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the trees mummers vanquish

Which human was born before the hills,
Or which man measures the age of a rock
Callop on the flank of bucklers,ready heaps
And his flame of wet branches, dry up
The trees and dead stones of horns in graphite dust

Of provocations .say to the trees,in their midnight dance
"YOU ARE MY FATHER ", a reputed bronze wood
The first born of devoured dead trees
Graven iron inscribed of rocks forever
He has fly away as a dream
And shudders the pall asps , of pigfish
Trunks shake the stable,children in shreds and broken hyancinth,

One dieth not at ease ,and quiet
Ah,how often is the candle put out
And the worms doth cover them, listen:
The clods of the valley are unsweet unsung;
Darkness struck for the stones of the brook

Groaning of wounds in the ceadar press
Wet with showers of the mountain crouched
As pillars divideth the spirit and body
Overflowingly ; precious crystal exchange equals
The trees leaves are harps to play some strings
And gives it flesh of flock to feed

And the beam of the night are rafters
Among the flagons, singing of birds , beethoven
For lo,rise up; ayoung hart shorn
A fountain of the gardens honeycomb
The lips of the asleep speak dreamingly
From the coals of fire to a palace of trees
Will we, wilt stiff concealments ,in coral reefs?

Editing stage: 


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This piece drifts as the clouds, the points are lost inside of extra words, and the reader becomes lost.
You will need to exercise control over your thoughts to bring the reader in, and show them what you are seeing.
I understand quite a lot of your works but others that have not seen the sun setting in Africa will need you to light their way, Yours Ian

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Unconditional love to you all.
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Yours as always, Ian.T, Sparrow, and Yenti

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